


Malfoy Honor

by ravenna_c_tan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Incest, M/M, Sexual Content, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenna_c_tan/pseuds/ravenna_c_tan
Summary: Lucius is not pleased about his son's affair with Harry Potter. Not at all. Postwar. Draco is 21 years old. Harry/Draco, Lucius/Draco, Draco/others.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**Title:** Malfoy Honor  
 **Author:** Ravenna C. Tan  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Pairing:** Harry/Draco, Lucius/Draco, Draco/others  
 **Word Count:** 18,732  
 **Warnings:** Incest. Mild bondage. Very dubious moral maneuvering. Dubious consent. Mis-use of the "aguamenti" charm (enema play). Mild spanking, mention of SM.  
 **Beta reader** : Sorcha Ravenschild  
 **Disclaimer:** I wrote this fanfic for completely non-commercial enjoyment. All characters are not mine and are copyrighted and trademarked by their owners/publishers.

 

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Part One: Honor

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+

It is no one's fault but my own.

He blames you, Harry. Of course he does. He wants me to, as well. But I will never do that. It was my mistake that led me to this.

My father cinches the gag tight. I know I will not be allowed to argue. He did not listen my words before, when I tried to plead my case, but the gag is not for my protests. A Silencing Charm would have done for that. No, the contraption of leather and buckles--which he tightens one more notch when he sees me wince--is purely to punish me.

I am still ignorant as to exactly what form my punishment will take, and I know he is keeping me ignorant so that I will be afraid. He has already stripped me bare with a wave of his wand.

I am not afraid. We are in a part of the manor's dungeons I've never visited before, but I tell myself this is my own father. He won't kill me. And anything short of killing me won't stop me from returning to you, Harry.

He shackles me face down on a wooden platform and I am curious to find it not cold and splintery as I expect, but charmed warm and cushioned. The incongruity of it is disturbing, as is the slight tang of blood I smell. Maybe that is just the iron of the shackles?

"Draco, Draco," he says, his voice heavy with disappointment. "I find it hard to believe that you could so easily forget all I've taught you. You've sullied the name of Malfoy."

_But my blood is still pure...!_ I think, though of course I cannot say anything. I know full well that when the time comes I will marry a pureblood witch and sire as many grandchildren for him as I can. You know it, too, Harry. That doesn't take away what we have, and what we have doesn't take away...

"It goes beyond the issue of ancestry and descendants, of course," he says, and I feel his breath on the back of my neck. His fingers run down my spine and I feel the ends of his hair tickling my skin. "Consorting with a blood traitor like Potter besmirches the family _honor_. Surely you see that, Draco?"

Gag or no gag, I am trying to protest. But only the faintest sound comes from my throat as I thrash my head upward. _But you and Snape...!_ I am trying to say. _He's a half-blood as well, you hypocrite!_

You told me that, Harry. You told me about the "half-blood prince." Could it be that Father doesn't even know?

"I know. I know you agree. The dirty Potter boy has seduced you. It's not your fault, Draco." He moves away from me, then, and I lie still, conserving my energy and listening. I hear the sounds of robes rustling, the sound that can only be a considerable amount of cloth hitting the floor.

My back prickles with sweat. Of course he would take off his robe before swinging a whip at me, but to let it fall to the floor...? 

I am such a fool. The next thing I feel is his bare chest against my back, his lips against my neck, grazing hungrily at the short hairs there. 

_Oh, Father..._

He feels me shiver under his touch and whispers into my ear. "I will erase him from your memory, Draco. Not with spells, but by surpassing him. You've always appreciated the finer things in life. And surely the sacrifices I've made for you, and you for me, should not be tossed aside because you've developed a taste for a filthy, lowborn _Gryffindor_?"

He rakes his nails down my back, just hard enough to set all my skin atingle. Merlin help me, Harry, but it's like he knows me. Knows what I want. His cock settles against my tailbone and I can't help but clench in anticipation.

I think he's larger than you. He's found that spot between my earlobe and shoulder where I...

The gag is a blessing because it keeps me from saying anything I might regret. From begging him to stop, from begging him to take me.

He hitches me onto my knees and slides a hand through my legs to cup my balls. My cock hangs half-hard and heavy; it swings as he rolls the sac in his fingers. By the time he takes my balls in his fist and squeezes them, I am almost completely erect. I know you think this hurts, that it would hurt if you did it, but it doesn't. Not the way you think. It makes me feel like the tip of my cock is on fire and like every nerve ending in my body is suddenly connected to my crotch, to my groin, to the deep place inside me where everything centers.

Oh, Harry. I've never dared to ask you for anything like that. 

He does not loosen his grip, but his other arm circles me and two fingers play along my foreskin. He draws it back from the scorching tip with a light touch, and the sounds I'm making in my throat now would not be words even without the gag. He lets his hand close slowly, so slowly, over the loose skin, and then he squeezes, one agonizing stroke toward the tip of my cock, and I think I am going to explode.

This is entirely my fault for thinking of you, Harry. For losing my patience as I suffered through another of his interminable lectures on management of the estate. As if he would relinquish it any time soon. Having survived the rise and fall of evil twice and two trips to Azkaban only to return to being Lord of the Manor each time, he is not about to relinquish even one iota of power.

And that is what this is, of course. My mother was his forever--well, until Death took her. He wants me to be his now, too.

Oh, God, his tongue. Even as he continues to stroke me, just hard enough, but just slowly enough to drive my arousal higher and higher, he has now let go my balls and is licking my ass. Warm and velvet-wet, his tongue edges closer to my hole, until I am shaking and crying into the gag from anticipation.

When at last he drives it into me I realize again that this is another thing I would never ask you for, Harry. You may have killed the Dark Lord and learned about the darkness in men's souls far too young, but you are still so innocent. I remember you telling me about your dormitory in the tower, how I refused to believe at first that you never once wanked in front of Finnegan, nor he you, not even on a dare. When the war ended, you were still a virgin. 

I do wonder... if I had not been the one to seduce you, last year after that strange reunion at Hogwarts, would you be a virgin still?

I remember that first time like it was yesterday, and I remember it often. I should not have thought about it. I should not have thought about you at all, about the way your eyes widen almost in shock every time you come. Most people close their eyes, but you are not most people, Harry.

I was the best Occlumens in Slytherin. I would have been safe. I should have known better. One glimpse into my thoughts was all it took, though, to land me here, in my father's hands.

He lets my cock hang free then, weighty and twitching in the sudden neglect, as he does something behind me. One hand steadies me at the small of my back.

I feel his slick finger, deliciously cold with lubricant, slide into me. He corkscrews his hand as he drills me with it, and my scream of intense pleasure is muffled by the gag. 

I want to hate him for this, Harry, for hating you. But I know him too well to think him evil for wanting the best for me, and love him too well to think him evil for... for this.

God, I want him. I want that hard cock I felt minutes? hours? ago against my spine to be inside me. He adds another finger, twisting his knuckle where I'm tender, teasing me and overwhelming me at the same time.

I remember the last time he spanked me, before I went to Hogwarts. I was a willful child; I'm sure you can picture it. A brat, you might say. Always trying to see how far I could go, how hard I could push, before he'd snap. 

There were times when he was away, when my mother would have him discipline me when he returned home. Stiff, formal affairs in his office, with the rod, bent over his desk, three strokes--maybe five if I had done something particularly bad like nearly burning down the rose garden--followed by a cathartic paroxysm of tears and then a pat on the head. And finally an admonition that when I grew up, when I went to school, I would be on my own recognizance. Father considered it unseemly to spank a boy after he had gone to school.

So I was ten. It was a sudden infraction, unintentional, as I sat on the floor of his study, paging through a book that I had been told not to touch until I was older. That alone would not have earned me a spanking, but the fact that I set the pages on fire when he burst in on me? Well. He snatched me up off the floor like I weighed nothing, trapped me over his knees, and spanked me with his bare hand until the moment when I was somehow no longer across his lap, but hugging him around the neck, crying into his hair and begging him to forgive me.

He kissed me on the forehead and forgave me, and at the time I thought it was the most wonderful feeling I'd ever experienced. I had been so completely... what? I had no words for it at ten years old and I have no words for it now as he once again has me at his mercy. So completely... his.

So complete. Or I will be, soon.

He senses it, I think, when I surrender. I don't know how he knows because my mind is shut as tight as the dungeons. He relents teasing me and I am shocked to hear him speak the word that releases the shackles.

Oh no, I won't be able to stand this, will I? He turns me over onto my back and spreads my legs. He's going to make love to me the way you do, Harry--face to face. What he won't do is bring me carefully to the edge of orgasm and then sweetly ask if I want to come first, the way you do.

He kisses me on the neck, suckles my nipples, then takes my cock into his mouth, prolonging the wait and insuring that I am rock hard and slick when he centers himself over my hips. My cock is trapped between our two stomachs as he uses one hand to guide himself.

He is larger than you, Harry. Much larger. But he takes his time, coaxing me, praising me, scraping a fingernail across my nipples until it's my legs wrapped around his back that force him in all the way. Good God, I can't help it; words of praise from my father's mouth are all I've ever craved, can't you see that? And he's telling me what a good boy I am, and how much he loves me.

He loves me. He loves me hard and fiercely and he holds nothing back of himself, taking me all the way to the edge, tossing me over, and then falling in after me. Orgasm isn't a long enough word, or loud enough, or bright enough, to describe what coming together with him is like.

I am still that boy with his arms around his father's neck, so sorry for what I did to anger him, so hungry for his benediction.

He releases the gag with a whispered word and it falls away. He gathers me to him, and I'm kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheek, until finally his mouth meets mine, claiming me for his own all over again, taking me anew to the point of tears and back.

When we part, he kisses me again, on the forehead this time, with admonitions to be on time to dinner next week as the new Minister for International Affairs will be dining with us.

I Apparate directly to your flat where I await you. He's forbidden me from seeing you ever again, of course, and a part of me wonders if after this you won't throw me out, as well. But I want to keep no secrets from you, Harry, and I've always been a willful boy, haven't I?

+  
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Part Two: Patrimony

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If only I had told you. I don't know if I could have avoided this, but you're a hero, are you not? Maybe you could have spared me this. 

But I didn't tell you.

My God, Harry, he's so angry that for a moment I doubt myself. I doubt my ability to play this game and win it. His magic crackles in the air, suspending me naked above the floor, as if by a giant, invisible fist--one thought and I could be crushed out of existence.

But he does not wish it. If he wished my destruction, if he cared so little for my life, he would not be angry at all. He steps close to me, leather-gloved fingertips rubbing against my swollen lower lip. I close my eyes, holding back a whimper, as my hair flutters and rises in the rush of his power.

You are asleep, his spell so powerful that even you will not be able to break it. I cannot see you, but I know you are right behind me, one arm flung over your eyes, naked and partly entangled by the sheets. You fell asleep that way after fatiguing yourself utterly while trying to satisfy me. 

You don't know what's changed. You don't know why I seem so restive. Until a few moments ago, I had dozed next to you, trying to work up the courage once again to tell you everything. I had wanted to tell you about him right away, right when it had happened. But when the time had come, when you had come through the door with flowers in your hand and a bottle of something to share, I'd decided that was not the right moment.

The right moment has not yet come. My father removes the glove from his hand with short tugs of his teeth, then puts it into my mouth. I bite down obediently, suppressing the urge to sob.

I know I've disappointed him. Made him angry. I did it willfully and yet I am unprepared for the force of my remorse. The need to beg and apologize rises up in my throat, but he will not give me that release. Not yet, anyway.

He turns his attention to you and I struggle in the invisible hold, jealousy turning my vision red. I don't want him to touch you. You're mine, and I am seized by the sudden fear that he will decide to claim you for his own, the way he has claimed me. He runs his hands down your chest, down the stripe of fur on your belly and down into the dark thatch around your genitals.

I am silent, but shaking as he hefts your limp cock in his hand.

You murmur unintelligibly and bat at his hand. He lowers his head, sniffing your cock and letting his tongue dart out to taste like a snake.

"Not now, Draco," you say, and roll onto your stomach, never waking. 

He leaves you and returns to me, shaking his head threateningly. He sits on the trunk at the end of the bed and opens his arms--I fall into his lap as the spell releases at his whim. He turns me over and his fingers probe the cleft between my buttocks. I feel my shame deepen as one finger slides in and out of my still-slick hole, my blush spreading from my cheeks downward as I hear the sound of him sucking something.

"You taste like Potter, my son," he says, the disappointment in his voice lashing me like a whip.

I know. I have your musk all over me, Harry, and your come inside me. I'm such a dirty boy, I didn't want to use a Cleaning Charm or wash myself out. I like to keep as much of you clinging to me as possible. 

"I'll need to cleanse you before I use you myself, you know that, don't you?"

I nod, clinging to his leg with all my strength. I barely feel the tip of his wand as he inserts it into my anus, but when he whispers " _Aguamenti_ " the stream of cold water is impossible to ignore.

"Hold tight," he says, and he is not referring to my arms. "You mustn't spill any."

I clench around his wand with a moan. The wait is excruciating, as is the chill creeping through my guts, and the pressure on my bladder which I have not emptied since before getting into bed with you, Harry. But I think I can stand it.

Until he begins to spank me. The first blow comes as a shock, against my tightened buttocks. The glove in my mouth muffles my cry partly, but even I can hear I sound more outraged than pained. The second blow comes in the same spot, harder than the first, and I scream again though clenched teeth.

Oh, he's devious, my father. He knows that a spanking is easier to take if you relax into it. But my insides are sloshing with water, and I am wound up as tight as I can be. 

He shows me no mercy. Not that I expected any. He spanks me with the flat of his hand all over my thighs and buttocks, and it goes on so long I wonder if I am beginning to bruise. But through it all I hold tight, even though I am crying now, tears and snot running down my face, the glove torn to shreds in my mouth. I let it fall.

"Good boy," he whispers into my hair, and turns my spasms to trembling with just those words. "My Draco," he says, and the sound of my name on his lips nearly causes me to lose what scrap of composure I have. "I'm so proud of you."

And that is when I climb up his torso, my hands cradling his face and seeking the kiss of forgiveness I crave the taste of so much. He rewards me with it, with a hand supporting the back of my head, his mouth on mine, even as his other hand takes up his wand again.

He waves it over my stomach. " _Evanesco_ " he whispers, and in an eyeblink I go from full to empty.

So empty. "Father..."

He hushes me, his tongue demanding entrance between my lips even as he wand returns below. For a moment I think he is going to fill me with water again, spank me again, again and again until I fail, but no, it is the lubrication spell this time. When I realize it, I cling to him harder, sucking at his tongue in grateful relief.

"Oh yes, Father," I say, as he lifts me in his lap, positions me over the erection he has freed from his robes. I am fully grown, yet somehow in his hands he can move me like a small child. "I need you."

"I know," he says into my ear as he pushes me down.

In this position I see you sleeping, Harry. I am at the foot of your bed, staring at you, blissfully ignorant of the debauchery taking place. Maybe there will never be a way to tell you about the darker things in me. You think you know the dark side of my soul, you think you saw it that day years ago when I tried to Crucio you in the bathroom at Hogwarts. You think you saw my good side that day, too. My conscience struggling to free me from the dark task ahead of me, and making me weep in fear and frustration.

Now I am weeping because I realize if you ever truly knew the dark side of me, you'd leave me without a moment's notice. This isn't something you can save me from, hero. My father's cock penetrates deep and I cling to his neck, crying out for him. I cannot tell you how much I want this. Need this.

"I love you," he whispers, and I am crying as he fucks me, as I stare at you and know that you've only ever loved the illusion of me. I said I didn't want to hide anything from you, Harry, and that was true. But I always did. I always showed you the Draco you wanted to see. The Draco I wanted you to love.

There is no hiding from my father, though. I did, for so long. I hid you from him for almost a year. But now, he is inside me in every way.

God, he's so large. I wonder if he's used a charm, or if it's just this position that makes it feel like he's reaching all the way into my stomach. His hands on my hips force me down onto him, to meet his upward thrust.

But then he relaxes, caresses my face with his palm. His other hand slides my foreskin up and down my own nearly forgotten shaft as a hint of things to come. "Milk me, Draco," he says, his voice a bare growl.

"Yes, Father." I steady my hands on his shoulders, straighten my back, and clench my thighs as I lift up and then force myself back down. I bite my lip, but cannot keep a whimper from escaping. Can you understand the difference, Harry? The difference between him fucking me... and me fucking him? I'm doing it, Harry. I find that I need it more than ever, as he provides me the prong upon which I impale myself. 

His approval pours off him in waves, and I bask in the strokes he makes on my back, his fingers in my hair, as I work for his pleasure. He licks the sweat from my neck, my chin, as I ride his lap.

Then he twists the knife. "Come now, my son, are you holding back? Because if your sweet arse cannot wring completion out of me... then I'll have to take my pleasure with Potter."

I know he's lying. But the words have power anyway, spurring me to slam my hips down, to squeeze as hard as I can, because this time the jealousy runs the other way. I want to be the one to make him come, the only one he holds this way and praises and kisses and loves.

Good thing I am an only child. Perhaps that's why I'm so greedy. I wanted all my mother's attention and my father's when I was growing up, and for the most part, I got it. Now I want you all to myself, Harry, and I want him as well.

I am triumphant at his moment of climax, as he wraps his arms around my ribcage and thrusts into me, bellowing like an animal. 

But my victory is short-lived. As he shrinks and slips from my arse, he opens heavy-lidded eyes to consider me. My cock bobs hard and insistent between us, and he closes his hand over the head.

"You're going to keep running back to him," he says. You, Harry. My hero.

I cannot meet his eyes. "Yes."

"You cannot fool me, Draco. I know you want him. But he cannot ever be more than a toy to you."

I lift my head, hearing something in his tone, in his words...

"I had my dalliance with a half-blood once. Very quietly, very discreetly. Do you know of whom I speak?"

"Sna--"

"Hush. But if you are to persist in this perverse desire, you must conduct yourself within the rules of propriety." He brushes my sweaty hair from my forehead, his eyes soft and so full of love, his words hardly sound like the rebuke they should be. "Be truthful. Have you fucked him?"

I know my cheeks color at my answer. "No."

"Then you must start." He taps his wand to my cock, and my erection, which was already straining, thrums like a plucked string. "Now."

"Now?" I repeat, like some kind of idiot.

He nods, pulling me down for a kiss, stoking the heat in my midsection higher. I feel something along the back of my thigh, then again the tip of his wand at my sphincter. "This belongs to me and me alone." He whispers a spell I cannot make out, but I feel the tingle of power run through my body.

Then he strokes my erection again. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes, Father."

"I will only allow it inside him."

I try to defend you, your honor, your innocence. "But he's asleep."

"I'll allow him to wake enough that you can obtain his consent."

I am not sure which I hope for more, that you'll refuse me, Harry, or the reverse. I climb off his lap on shaking legs, and crawl carefully onto the bed. I cover your body with mine, and my cock twitches against your bare arse.

I whisper your name and you respond with a murmur, coming more awake when you make out my words: "I want to fuck you, Harry." I could almost laugh when you assent, unaware of the gravity of the situation. You think you are just giving in to my wishes, pleasing your lover with your willingness, but it is not my wish at all. I make it clear that I mean to go through with it now, and you sweetly direct me to the container of lubricant on the table by your wand.

I slick you the way you've slicked me so many times, going through the progression of fingers and seeking out your prostate. You sigh and squirm under me. It appears I am not the only one with a previously unknown side. And when I am getting ready to enter you, you ask the question I'd been hoping you'd forget, asking me why the sudden change of preference, when I've always spread my legs for you before.

I catch my father's eye before I lie. "That was just my way of seducing you," I say. "I didn't want to scare you off."

My father stifles his own laughter when you ask "Is that why you've been so twitchy in bed lately? Working yourself up to this?"

"Yes," I say as I slide my cock into you. I cannot help the pained sound that comes out of my throat. You've said yes, and yet I feel as though I'm violating you. 

I am violating you. My father smiles and strokes my hair. He has assured my silence.

If only I'd told you. if only I'd said something. Maybe I could have spared you this.

+  
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Part Three: Race

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+

Have you noticed the hollows under my eyes, the way I pick nervously at my food, unable to eat? Of course you haven't, Harry. When have we ever shared a meal? Almost never. My hunger for food has always seemed wan compared to my other desires. And I've been spelling away the circles, so you won't ask why I'm so tired, so exhausted and wrung out.

And yet, balanced here on the edge of the sword, there is a part of me that has never been happier. Perhaps happy is not the right word. Thrilled, yes. Fulfilled, yes. I crave being strung so taut that at any moment I might break. I fool myself into thinking I am thriving this way. It has been three months since my Father's ultimatum, three glorious months in which I have passed from his bed to yours and back more times than I can count. You don't know why it is that sometimes I arrive so hard and straining that I fuck you on the hearthrug in front of the Floo, unable to wait even to move you to the bedroom, making you scream my name as I bury my cock as deep in you as it will go.

You like the attention. Gentle, rough, however I dish it out. I never realized how starved for love you were, before. You bask under my affections, and I lavish them on you. And if once in a while I tie you to the bed and make it hurt, or twine charmed roses complete with thorns around your balls, you only take it as more evidence of how much I love you. Which is why I delude myself into thinking it can go on this way forever. You have even stopped asking to fuck me in return. The truce will hold, I think. I hope. I believe.

So I am shocked when I come through your Floo to find a startling sight. There he is, sitting like the statue he wants built of himself at the Ministry, in fresh mink-lined robes, his aristocratic hands folded over the head of his cane, his hair pulled back in a velvet ribbon, and one eyebrow raised like he is amused that I am tardy. He looks incongruous there, sitting on a piece of your Muggle furniture, turning an overstuffed reclining chair into a throne.

"Father," I say, because I must say something, and _where is Harry and what have you done with him?_ would certainly be a rude way to greet my sire.

"Draco," he answers, and crosses one leg over the other, glancing at the charmed hourglass over the mantelpiece as it flips and the sand begins to run the other way. "Mr. Potter is running an errand. So our time is limited."

"Yes, Father." My panic at the thought that you will return and find us together puts a lump in my throat. My only thought then is that if I can satisfy him quickly, he'll leave before you return. I drop to my knees and reach for the placket of his trousers.

His eyes flash, angry that I am taking the initiative without his permission. "Please, Father," I beg. He nods, curious now to see what my initiative is directing me to do.

I am not surprised to find him erect as I unveil his cock. He has taught me in no uncertain terms the way he likes to be sucked. I shiver as I tease the crown with my lips, wondering if he knows, somehow, that I still let you take my mouth. Surely he has no illusions about my understanding of the rules and my penchant for bending them? He claimed my arse for his own, but set no other limits. I love the taste of your cock, Harry, the impatient way you grab me by the hair and force my head down. But I love anything that makes you lose control.

Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, is all about control. I move smoothly from nibbling to laving the head with wide flat circles of my tongue, and he moans in appreciation. When he starts to shudder, just on the edge of over-stimulation, I cover my teeth with my lips and give a series of firm bites along the underside of his long shaft.

The first time we did this, the first time I had my father's cock in my mouth, I nearly caused him to lose control. I caused him to forget himself for a moment, and though he tried to cover it up, what else was I to think when he whispered my mother's name as he ran his fingers through my hair? He explained it away as a lesson in my mother's technique, her mastery of the form.

I will consider I have truly mastered the form when I can make him lose himself again. Here, in your living room, Harry, the stakes are higher than ever. I ply his member with every trick I can, until my jaw aches and my tongue feels swollen at the root, his breath coming faster and faster, his hands no longer caressing my hair, but clenching...

At last, he gives way, gripping me around the back of the head and forcing me to take him deep into my throat. God, he's large, and I'll hardly be able to talk after this, but the triumph that I have undone him is worth it.

He regains control just in time. Snarling, he pushes me off him, and I can feel the anger pulsing in the room. I've pushed too far. 

I always push too far.

"Strip," he commands. I hurry to comply. He must be truly enraged to be so curt. I again wonder why he is there, and what I've done wrong to cause him to seek me out this way. Whatever punishment he had in mind, my oral ministrations did not deter him from it for long.

When I am utterly naked, I press my forehead to his feet. "I'm sorry, Father."

"And what are you sorry for?"

Oh, he's going to make this hard. "F-for everything." I know I must say more. If only I knew what he wanted to hear! "For being too weak to give up Potter."

"Be specific, Draco, or I won't be convinced of your..." He hesitates, resettling the fur-lined robe on his shoulders. "Your _sorriness._ "

I am pathetic. I clutch at the edge of the robes. "But I've been good. I've done as you asked. I haven't allowed him my arse even once. And the things you wanted, I've done them all. The roses around his cock, tying him up--please, Father, I've followed your every instruction!"

He leans back in the chair, his erection very large in my field of vision. "It's far too easy for you to lie to me. You've always been a good liar, Draco."

I am about to protest, to tell him I'll put the memories in a Pensieve--after all, I've been expecting him to want to view them for his own pleasure anyway--when he says "Get on my cock, and then say those things again."

"Yes, Father." I climb into his lap, one foot tucked on either side of him in the chair, my arms around his neck. The fur of the robes tickles me everywhere I touch him, and I wait for him to whisper the lubrication charm.

He does no such thing. "What are you waiting for?"

I whimper in answer. So this is the punishment, and I must inflict it on myself. I wiggle until the head of his cock is centered on my arsehole. There's still a sheen of my saliva there, but it is nowhere near as slick as it should be for this. I push--the head slides off toward my spine.

I reach down with a hand to hold him steady, trembling, pushing...

Oh, God, Harry, it burns. I cannot take more and I press my wet eyes against his neck, desperate for comfort, sure that a word of encouragement or a touch will come.

But none do. I am not good enough, not strong enough, for praise. Not yet. I try hard to relax, to allow him in, to take him deeper. But the pain, God, Harry, I'm crying now, so that there's a pain in my chest that matches the burning between my legs, the splitting, searing.

"Please, Father," I beg, "please! I... I've tried so hard to please you! I didn't lie. I've done everything you asked." God, is that pain in my chest my heart breaking? "You said I could keep him if I did what you wanted! Please, Father, please, please!" 

My pleading breaks off when he looks away in disgust. I force myself down further, crying out in pain and despair. "What do you want? Please, Father, don't make me leave him."

His hands grip me by the hips then, and for a moment I think he is going to force me all the way down, to split me open and ruin me forever. But he gives me a moment of mercy, holding me still, as he stares into my eyes. "Leave him? Just what is it you think you have with him, Draco? Do you love him?"

I am clinging hard to his neck now, and bawling hard enough that I can barely answer. "I-I don't know!"

"Think about it, Draco. You have trysts in the dead of night. You fuck him in secret in this dingy flat deep in Muggle London. That is not a relationship."

"But he loves me," I blurt, before I realize what a mistake it might be to say it.

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, yes. Father, listen to me. I know you said he must be no more than a toy to me. He's mine. He's mine so completely that he's willing to... put up with all my crazy demands for secrecy and bedroom games and everything." I am trying to take deep breaths, trying to center myself, but the center of me right now is my father's cock tearing me in two. It's hard to concentrate. "He needs me."

"And do you need him?"

"Yes, yes!"

"As much as you need me?"

So, it has come to this at last. "Please don't make me choose between you. Please. Please."

"I can't believe what a sick, spoiled brat you are."

I glare into his eyes at that. "If I am, then you made me this way." The anger that has been tapping me on the shoulder for long minutes now finally gets my attention. "You're the one who seduced me, as I recall. And don't you dare criticize the nature of my relationship with Potter when it's _you_ who forced it to be this way! I'd have never hidden it if I weren't hiding it from you!"

Suddenly I am on the floor, his cock still buried in me, as he puts his hands to my throat. His rage has undone him. "But do you love him?" he insists, even as he fucks me, tears into me.

We are well past the point of no return, Harry. If you come home to find my corpse on the floor, I want my final words to be ones you would be proud of. "Yes! Yes! I love him more than..."

His orgasm is explosive, or so it feels, literally, to me. That's me screaming. This is pain far beyond what an injury sustained during rough sex should be like. It feels like I've swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro, only I've already got bones in the way.

He pulls out quickly, wand in hand, whipping back and forth with a pain-relieving spell--I am suddenly floating, painless. I open my eyes and find I am literally floating, above the scene below, where one figure is still curled in agony and the other is leaning over, trying to do something about it. I've heard that _Indolentia_ could cause an out of body experience, but I've never had it happen to me before.

Up here, I see and sense everything, the sheen of the fur as the robes are draped over me, the rustle of the sand in the hourglass as it performs its hourly flip. It is like every tiny detail of the room is there for me to read, right down to the place where the finish is worn on the length of holly in...

... your hand. 

You're kneeling by my prostrate body, Harry, and you're crying. And for a moment I think I must be dead, a ghost. You've killed me. But ghosts can speak and interact, and all I can do is float. So you haven't killed me. Raped me, maybe. Is that why you're crying?

You're kneeling there in robes too large for you, cradling me to you, and cursing every god that you can name, because this is your doing. You told me once that you were almost sorted into Slytherin, but I didn't quite believe it until now. How you got one of my father's hairs, I don't know--plucked it off him at the Ministry, I'd guess. Or maybe on one of my own cloaks--his hair being so much longer than mine, if you were sharp-eyed enough you could have seen it.

My God, Harry, how long have you known?

I don't know that I'll ever be able to ask you that question. My father appears, your wards broken, and then the two of you are fighting over me. Ah, the pain makes sense now. The charm he had set upon my arse to ensure my chastity punished me for allowing you to fuck me Harry, even though you were masquerading as Lucius Malfoy himself at the time.

Then suddenly, shockingly, I am back in my body, in my father's arms, as he speaks the words that reverse the charm, that heal me. 

The last thing I see before the rush of Disapparition is your face, Harry. You look hungry, needy, angry, but not broken. 

That makes one of us.

+  
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Part Four: Weeks

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+

 

_Harry,_

_It is two weeks to the day since I last saw you. I am setting quill to parchment today even though I know I shall never owl this letter. Writing, I find, can be so therapeutic. Since I am going to burn this letter as soon as I am through writing it, I feel quite free to say any number of things. And I like the illusion that I'm still connected to you, Harry. That you care what's happening to me. Even though I'm quite sure you feel otherwise._

_I am a prisoner. Don't think I don't know that. I haven't tried to leave, but I have little doubt that if I did, I would find it either impossible, or he would track me down like an animal and drag me back here, humiliated. But I have not even tried._

_Is it my pride that keeps me here? Or something else?_

_The Manor is the same as it always has been. I sleep in the bedroom that was mine as a child. The house elves tiptoe around me as they always did._

_I tiptoe around my father. I know you won't understand that. You would rage and fight and scream like a rabid kneazle if anyone put you in a cage. You'd bite the hand that fed you. I know you, Harry. But I am not that kind of animal._

_Especially not when I arrived here in such a beaten state. I hope you have no illusions about that._

_"Did you think that the Chastity Charm would be fooled by that impostor?" he raged, while I lay crumpled and naked at his feet on the parquet floor of the entryway. "Were you so desperate for it"--here he poked me in the buttock with the end of his cane--"that you resorted to Polyjuice?"_

_I was crying too hard to answer. All I could do was shake my head. You've never seen me like that, Harry, so it must be hard to picture. I eventually forced out the words: "I thought he was you!"_

_He believed me. Thank Merlin and Morgana, he believed me. Or maybe he saw it for himself. I left my defenses completely open, something I've never done before._

_That's how badly you broke me, Harry._

_He knelt down then and gathered me to him, his robes enveloping me. "Tell me what he did."_

_I shook my head. The memory of you choking me, forcing me to take your cock dry. even while I was claiming I loved you... It was all still vivid in my mind, and I looked into his eyes to share the memory with him._

_" _Tell me_ , Draco," he admonished softly. "Words have power, don't ever forget that." He caressed my cheek as he pulled me into his lap, wrapping his robes around us, there on the floor of the foyer. "I can see the bruises on your neck."_

_I don't know why I tried to defend you, still. What I said was so patently stupid. "He was angry," I explained, and then, as if it excused you somehow: "And he didn't choke me very hard."_

_His voice was low, and I was so grateful the threat in it was not aimed at me. "Only hard enough to hurt you. To punish you, but not to kill you."_

_I nodded, rubbing my face against the fabric of his robes. Was he right, Harry? Were you trying to punish me?_

_"Go on."_

_I still could not bring myself to describe how, thinking it was him, I had climbed onto your lap and impaled myself on you, nor how I had expected, had it been him, to be praised and coaxed and encouraged. I felt a surge of anger then._

_You didn't do any of those things. You did it to hurt me. You _were_ trying to punish me. I can see that now._

_"He interrogated me," I told him. "He demanded to know if I loved him, and he said..." That was when it sank in fully, of course. That the words you'd spoken, about how there was no "relationship" between us--you believed them. You believe what we had was nothing._

_Is that why you did it, Harry? He accused you of raping me, of assault and coercion of the worst kind. The worst part about it is there is nothing I could say to defend you. Was it because there was nothing to defend?_

_But if there was nothing between us, you wouldn't have been so angry. If there was nothing, you would have ceded me to him. No?_

_You knew, Harry. You knew about Lucius and me. You must have known why I kept it secret, then. And did you come to me with this knowledge? Was that whole charade your twisted way of trying to protect me?_

_I couldn't tell you. I couldn't. I accept that you were angry. What did you hope to accomplish by doing what you did? Did you get the answers you wanted? Was it sweet to hear me scream in pain while I told you I loved you?_

_I haven't finished telling you yet what my father did when we returned to the Manor. Let's see, where was I? Yes, I'd just told him about your interrogation of me._

_His interrogation, on the other hand, was gentle, incongruously gentle. "Did you tell him you loved him?"_

_I cried as I nodded against his chest. That's the real reason I'm writing to you, of course. Because I told you I loved you._

_The irony of the situation is not lost on me. Father's interpretation, that you were my toy, was never really the case, was it? It was always the other way for you, is my current supposition. And you didn't want to share your toy, so you broke it._

_He took me, right there on the floor of the foyer. Did you want to know that? I don't care. To finish the reversal of the Chastity Hex, he had to reassert his claim. He lay me back on his outer cloak, kissing away my tears, and murmuring to me._

_Words, Harry. Words have power. Never forget that. He told me I had skin like silk as he caressed me, and that no one loved me more than he did. His eyes flashed with anger as he spelled away the bruises on my neck, following his wand with his tongue._

_I clutched at him in fear of pain when his hand slipped between my legs, but he hushed me, and showed me the thick dollop of bluish cream on the end of his finger before he began to circle my abused hole with it._

_It was heavenly, and soothing, and before long he began to swirl some of the cream inside me with gentle slides of his finger, until I was making a mewling sound in my throat like a hungry kitten. And to think, not even an hour before, I had been ready to think he wanted to kill me, that he might leave me for dead on your living room floor. But that had been you, Harry, not him._

_He kissed my nipples in turn and asked if I was ready for him. I was._

_That's how he made me his again._

_I'm still angry with you, that much should be obvious. So I should end there, shouldn't I? If I were owling it, I would. I know you, Harry, and I know it would be like a kick in your gut to read that. Or a knife in the heart. Secrets are a form of protection, after all. Can you blame me for wanting to protect you from this?_

_There is more. Two weeks I've been here. Two weeks._

_I am a prisoner here and it is time I faced the way he has kept me._

_He's is still angry with me, and yet we are reconciled... I will try to explain. He avoided me for a few days after we returned here. I suppose he was leaving me time to lick my wounds and come out at my own pace. The first time we interacted after that was when the junior minister for exchange came to dinner with his wife. I played the model son--it's a role I've always been good at, after all--and I expected his approval for it._

_He gave it after the guests had left, just a gentle cupping of my ear with his hand, a loving but chaste kiss on the top of my hair. A word of thanks._

_And that was all._

_Days went by like that, with nothing more than a caress here, a kiss there. I found myself trying to spend more and more time in his presence, to give him the opportunity to do more if he wished it. He can be mercurial, I know that, but I have been on my best behavior, doing nothing to provoke his anger. I took to rendezvousing with him for every meal when he was home and not off at the Ministry or elsewhere, and to playing chess with him in the evenings in the parlor by the fire._

_Two nights ago, I beat him. I saw the checkmate coming several moves ahead and sat there in dread, wondering what would happen when it dawned on him._

_When it did, he smiled at me like he was proud. But then he said good night and left the room._

_I could stand it no more. I waited, gathering my courage, then followed him to his bedroom. I knocked on the door and when he said "Enter" it opened. I stood on the thick carpet, my hands clasped, as it swung shut behind me._

_He was in his dressing gown, sitting at a vanity, a silver-backed hairbrush in hand and the ribbon from his hair on the other. I asked if he would allow me to brush his hair and he said yes._

_So I brushed his hair. It is not as fine as mine--some of his are gray and coarse--but it is luxurious and thick and he closed his eyes as I did it. I pressed myself against the back of the chair he sat in, wondering if I dared to go further. When I was finished, I stood there a moment, the brush in my hand._

_He looked up at me, as if asking what I planned to do next. I froze. If he banished me from his sight, I was sure it would crush me, but would it be better to flee myself and spend another night alone in my room?_

_"What is it, my son?" he prompted._

_I found I couldn't speak. Instead, I sank to my knees, and presented the hairbrush to him with both hands like an offering._

_He plucked it from me and asked, "Have you done something that requires correction?"_

_I shook my head._

_"Words, Draco," he warned._

_"No, Father. Not... lately."_

_He ran his fingers along my cheek which felt like it was burning. "You merely crave my... attention?"_

_"Yes, Father." I could not look him in the eye._

_He made a tut-tut sound, his voice soft and yet terrible when he said, "Did you think that seeing you begging like a common slut would please me?"_

_I could have run from the room then. But I didn't. Instead, I glared at him and answered, "I thought that perhaps asking for your attention rather than provoking it through disobedience would please you. If I'm wrong, say so, and I'll happily go back to fucking Mudbloods and traitors."_

_I wasn't halfway through the word "Mudbloods" when he seized me by the chin. I had been expecting a slap and I didn't flinch. Instead I closed my eyes and just said "Please, Father." I don't know if you know what that's like, Harry. I was so desperate for him to have me by then, I didn't care whether I needed to provoke him, beg him, or seduce him._

_Fortunately for me, the combination of all three I employed was successful. I felt the warmth of his breath on my lips an instant before he kissed me. I drew his tongue into my mouth and in the next moment, he lifted me up, his arms under my knees and behind my back, and all the while I kissed him, so grateful that he planned to take me, to possess me, to prove how much he loved me._

_I broke away when he half-tossed me onto the bed, the sheets perfect white and deepest blue. In the next instant he spelled away my clothes and his mouth was hot and hungry on my bare skin, my neck, my chest, my nipples._

_"Draco," he breathed as his hands searched my skin for sensitive places. "I've not had a lover in this bed since your mother."_

_There was really nothing I could say to that, now, was there? I sucked his cock so that I didn't have to speak, while I thought about that. God, Harry, since that first time in the dungeon, we'd fucked in the parlor, the study, in the grand dining room, in my bed at my flat in London, and of course in the dungeon more than once, but never here._

_He didn't speak again until he was deep inside me, his hands on mine, holding me still, his stomach pressing my cock between us as he drove in with long, smooth strokes. "Do you regret Potter?" he asked._

_And it was the truth, Harry, when I said "No. Because if it weren't for him, you never would have..." I didn't get to finish the sentence, because his mouth was on mine then, but the meaning was clear enough._

_We were still fucking some time later when he said, "I've been giving some consideration to an overture from the widow Greengrass."_

_"She wants to marry you?" I felt alarmed at the thought that this might be the only time I would be allowed into this bed. If he married again._

_He chuckled. "No, no. Her daughter Daphne was in your class at Hogwarts, I believe?"_

_"But I thought she married a Muggleborn?"_

_"Annulled. He was hexed in the war and unable to produce children. Though the Greengrass fortune is sizable, she would of course come to live here." He increased his thrusts then, their force and pace, but persisted in speaking. "You would become Lord and Lady Malfoy."_

_I couldn't answer, he was fucking me that deeply, but I wanted to ask if there was more he was not telling me. He had used the word "lover" before. If he and I were lovers, would it end with my marriage? I made a sound of distress._

_He wrapped his arms around me, fucking hard, his mouth at my ear. "Your arse, of course, would still belong to me."_

_I came when he said that, crying and screaming and drumming my heels against the bed. I know, I am being lurid. I have naught else to do, though, but amuse myself in this fashion. This letter will be ash before the afternoon is out, anyway._

_But there it is, my explanation. I shall never leave here. He does nothing without consideration, my father, and the discussion of my impending engagement and the consequent assumption of the lordship could have taken place over tea. No, the fact that he chose to discuss the matter with me while his cock pinned me to the bed he once shared with my mother made it extremely clear exactly where I belong._

_I hear his footsteps in the hall, on his way from the library to the parlor for tea. I shall join him, so I must close, and as ever, I remain_

_Draco Malfoy  
_

+  
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Part Five: Silence

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Five words, Harry. Five words was all it took to turn my world upside down.

Pardon me for being dramatic and over-simplifying the case. It is a bad habit, learned from my mother, and I should know better. I shall endeavor to be more clear.

First of all, my world was already upside down, inside out, and in every other way imaginable twisted away from what the Wizarding public deems "normal." You know that. What else would one call it when a father is preparing the suite of apartments for his son and future-daughter-in-law to inhabit such that the husband and wife shall have separate bedrooms and the father's own room shall have a secret staircase to the son's?

Greengrass is pleasant enough, not a shrew nor a cow, pleasing to the eye with a quiet public demeanor. A more convenient marriage I could not ask for. I think she even likes me a little--apparently she has the vestiges of the crush she had on me in our Hogwarts days, one I never knew about. This shows me she is exceptional at hiding her true feelings, a trait which has ever been necessary for survival in the Malfoy household. 

It is an ability you never mastered, Harry. Thankfully.

I beg for him to fuck me every night. Otherwise, I do not sleep. I lie awake, quivering like a dew drop on a spider web, unable to fall nor move away from the predator at the center, five words seeming to hover before my eyes, tempting me, torturing me. When I can stand it no longer, I present myself to him, beg him to grant me oblivion, to use me until I forget everything but sensation. Then my spent body can finally lie at rest.

He can be cruel, I know, because he knows beyond any doubt that he holds the upper hand, the hand on my leash, and his reflex is to exercise that power. Dominion must be refreshed, renewed, and I give him ample opportunity. A favorite game of his is to test me, to push me, to make my passion rise and then hold it in his proverbial fist. But always, always he soothes after he stings, and I do not know which I crave more.

I slip into his room in the middle of the night sometimes, when he is already asleep, and steal into bed with him. Sometimes he is angry, or he plays at being so--his beauty rest disturbed and all that--such that he binds me, drags me to the dungeons, and whips me until I either lose the will to scream or I come. Yes, he has that skill, to whip me until I climax--I have no idea how much is magic and how much is practice. I wonder if he might someday--in the middle of tea, perhaps--snap his fingers and speak the word menacingly soft-- _"Come"_ \--and I will, regardless of who is there or what I am wearing. Perhaps that is a mere fantasy; I do not know.

Sometimes the beating is hard and fast, while other times he coaxes me, pushing me close to the breaking point, then backing off, caressing my hair as if I were the most precious thing in the world. As if my ability to accept ten more strokes from his hand is as praiseworthy as ridding us of the Dark Lord.

Sometimes I do not even attempt the pretense of trying to sleep. There was a night not so long ago when my intended and her mother dined here with us. After they had gone, the heavy oak of the main door closed behind them, I dropped to my knees in the foyer, that very spot where he and I had come to our current state on the day he took me from you, Harry.

He let me press my face to his robes as he stroked my hair and chided, "So, the scent of the bitch in heat has affected you so?"

"No, Father," I said. "But the nearer I come to marrying, the more I realize I..." I looked up, unable to speak the words, even after all this time. He ran his thumb over my lower lip, grey eyes meeting mine.

That was when he told me about the rooming arrangement, and the staircase, and I felt a great surge of emotion--fear, longing, awe, lust, all balled up together. That he loved me, that he desired me so much that he would truly go to such lengths, that his need for me was so great that he would do so... it frightened me and made me want him all the more.

He stripped me with one wave of his wand, then blindfolded me with another. And then, leading me by the hand, he walked me naked through the halls of the manor to a room on the second floor. 

I could tell, the moment we entered the room, that someone else was there. As the door swung shut behind us and my father let go my hand, I strained to hear, to stretch out my senses. How did I know someone was there?

He spoke. "It is time I knew how much instruction you may need, my son, in how to perform best in the marriage bed."

I wanted to speak, to protest the intimation he made that my abilities might be somehow subpar, that the time spent in your bed, Harry, had eroded my touch with the fairer sex. But it was as if the blindfold had subdued my voice as well as my sight. 

"Can you smell her, Draco?" he whispered then. "Find her, and pleasure her. I am right here."

I stretched out my hands before me. I guessed that we were in one of the three guest bedrooms, and I could feel the heat of the fire on my right, meaning the bed, if I remembered rightly, was off to the left. I took slow steps in that direction, then paused when my foot brushed the bottom of the bed linens. I leaned forward carefully until I had both palms on the bedclothes.

"Hullo?" I said, as I felt forward and encountered the first touch of bare flesh, a silky-skinned leg, I guessed.

"She will not speak in answer," came my father's voice from behind me. "Though you will find her pliant and willing."

I nodded, feeling the ends of the blindfold brush my back as I did so. I climbed onto the bed then, letting my hands slide gently up her body, and she arched into my touch and gave a soft moan as I let one hand skim the edge of her pubic hair. So, she had a voice, but she would not speak. I wondered if she was a paid whore, under orders, or if father had perhaps taken another step toward insanity and this was my fiancée lying here under my hands, bespelled or perhaps under influence of a potion, her mother Obliviated. Or complicit.

The blindfold was no doubt supposed to inspire just such questions. I skimmed her breasts as I brought my hands to her face, then lowered my lips to hers. My kiss soon trailed down her neck, down to one peaked nipple.

God, Harry, I had forgotten how soft women can be. Like pillows and satin and entirely different from a man. I imagined it was Greengrass lying there, imagined what she might have fantasized about me back in sixth year, how she might have wanted it.

I made her come once with my hands, once with my mouth, and once with my cock. I daresay my sire was pleased with the performance, though he gripped me by the shoulders and fairly tore me from her as I was fucking her, after she had come the third time but before I had come once.

I had the audacity to argue. "I thought it was my arse that belonged to you," I spat, trembling and straining against his embrace as if my cock might somehow still be able to reach her and finish what it had begun.

He stroked me with torturous slowness, one hand around my cock and the other arm around my chest, even as I could feel his own nakedness, his own hardness, pressing against my back. "All of you belongs to me," he whispered. "And you are mistaken if you think I shall allow the Malfoy seed to be sown indiscriminately."

I hope the blindfold hid my expression of shock and dismay. Had he not cast contraception charms? I shall never know.

"If you are determined to come inside her," he continued, "I will allow you her mouth or her arse. But you must choose between that and having me inside you tonight."

I laughed, turning in his grip and throwing my arms around his neck. There was truly only ever one correct choice in that offer. "Do not threaten me with withholding your cock, Father." I kissed him on the cheek like a toddler begging for a piece of candy. "Say you never will."

I wish I could have seen his face, Harry, for a tremor went through him when I said that--I suspect his face might have shown unalloyed joy. "My Draco," he breathed, into my hair, his fingers closing over my cock again. "You know, of course, the games we play... I would never withhold what you truly need."

I am such a good liar because I always use a grain of the truth. Or maybe it was simply the truth, with him stroking my cock with such tenderness, his lips quivering against my hair as he confessed just how deep his feelings for me were, I said the only sensible thing. "I need you now."

He fucked me on the bed then, right next to the woman. I felt her hands on us as he took me, her breath in my ear and her silky fingers tweaking my nipples, but it was my father's hand on my cock when I came. Of course it was.

But I have digressed far from the explanation I was attempting to give. Was it five words which upset my worldview so much, or was that something that had begun to erode already? There are two other nights I must tell you of, before this will begin to make sense. If it ever begins to make sense.

The first was a night like I have already described, in which I slid into his bed uninvited in the wee hours of the morning. He was deeply asleep, perhaps helped by the bottle of spirits we had consumed after dinner as we played a game of wizard chess, and he did not stir as I slid my bare skin against his. 

For all he rails against my incursions into that bed, he has begun to sleep without nightclothes.

This particular night, I allowed my fingers to steal over the curve of his hip, to weigh the limp weight of his cock in them, and then gently, with tiny movements, to stimulate him to full hardness.

He rolled toward me suddenly, rutting against my hip and murmuring something I could not make out.

I held him in my arms, settling more directly under him, luxuriating under the delicious friction of that cock against my skin, his chest against my chest. And then he spoke a word I heard clearly, no mistake.

"Cissy," he said, and ground into me harder.

It felt like a slap, at first, as I misheard it as "sissy," but then cold shock hit, and pinned as I was under him, I could not now escape. Was he dreaming of my mother? Or did he really think me her? "Lucius," I answered, in a whisper, just to see what would happen.

I was not prepared for his sudden sob, his arms tightening around me. "Oh, Cissy," he said, his cheeks wet now against my own. "I've missed you so. It has been so hard without you."

I was paralyzed under him, grateful that he was not actually inside me. 

"You promised you'd be with me forever. I'm so happy you're back. My cherished. My flower." And with that he came in hot spurts onto me, then collapsed and slipped into deep slumber once again.

That was the first time I began to suspect that there was more to his devotion to me than the pretenses he put up about taking me from you, Harry. I remembered then that he had called me by the name Narcissa once before, and other subtle things that had not made sense before then. I slipped out of the bed that night, and soaked a long time in a near-scalding bath, thinking and thinking. That first time, had he truly believed that fucking me into submission would make me leave you, Harry? Even had you and I been a mere dalliance, which we assuredly were not, what outcome could he have hoped for?

I continued to see you, Harry, and he continued to punish me for it, drawing me into an ever-tightening net of desire. I have little doubt that if Lucius Malfoy lacked for a lover, he could have found one. So why me?

I clung to the thought that after all the years of strife and disapproval, that this was finally his way of connecting us, of making us a united pair as a father and son should be, in the only way he knew. I clung to that belief stubbornly, though it had been shaken.

The next blow came when I plotted to surprise him. Since I have been so good, so obedient, he has been allowing me out under certain circumstances. This particular night, I made sure he thought I had gone to socialize with some of the other Ministry sons, but in fact I lay in wait in the false cupboard behind the bookshelf in his study. Through a near-invisible slit in the wood, I could peer over the books and see almost half the room.

He had never taken my mother's clothes from their wardrobes. The preservation charms had worked very well, and with only a minimum of transfiguration work, I found I could easily wear one of her most elegant evening gowns. Black, of course, one solid sheath of chenille, covered in a thin layer of gossamer, sleeveless. I pulled on satin gloves that covered my elbows and a string of her pearls, and tucked myself into the spy cabinet to wait.

He meandered in after dinner with a snifter of cognac in his hand, but instead of sitting down at the desk as I expected him to, he tossed a pinch of powder into the Floo--not to leave, merely to communicate with someone.

From my hiding place I could not see who, but it was clear from the voice when he arrived that my father had invited Severus Snape to share a drink with him.

You would have been fascinated, Harry, to overhear the things they talked about. Of that I have no doubt--you always loved any hint of intrigue or conspiracy, didn't you? But I barely remember it. Mostly I remember thinking that I had made a mistake, hiding there, but that perhaps after Severus Floo'ed away, I could still put my plan into action.

That thought turned to ash the moment my father slapped Severus across the face. Again they were at an angle, such that I could only see the edge of my father's robes. I tried to replay my memory, what had Severus just said to deserve the slap?

But then I saw it did not matter. Pretense. I saw my father's robe fall to the floor, and then he took a step backward, trying to catch his balance as Severus was a bit too eager to work open my father's trousers.

But open them he did, and this I could see, as my father took another step back to lean against the desk, and Severus went to work in earnest with his lips and tongue. 

He went through the same sequence of teases and techniques that my father had taught me he preferred. 

And he stroked Severus' greasy hair, and said the words, "Good boy," and other phrases of praise. My outrage began to rise.

And then he had Severus flattened face down on the desk, and was pressing his cock against his hole, and Severus was begging for him to go slowly, to have mercy, it had been so long... 

Father made him take it, of course he did, but with much care and kisses upon his back and words of encouragement, and praise and more praise, how good Severus was to take him all the way, how brave, how wonderful.

Word for word the same things he said to me, night after night. As he pushed my limits of pain and pleasure. As he took his satisfaction on my body. 

The same words.

I felt betrayed. Lied to. You can imagine how it became harder and harder to cling to my ideals. Oh, the twists and turns my brain made, though. _It's because you're not here,_ I told myself, _and he pretends Severus is you._

_Oh, the same way he pretends you are your mother?_ another voice in my head said.

I hoped that when both men were sated, they would retire quickly, and I could escape to my room and reconstruct my shattered worldview.

But no. There were more revelations in store. When their clothes were righted, the sweat and spunk spelled away, they sat down, my father at the desk where I could see him, and Severus in the chair by the Floo.

"My goodness, Lucius," Severus began. "It's been... years."

"I know, old friend," he said. "Thank you for indulging me,"

"I would prefer to have my curiosity satisfied to your thanks," Severus replied, in that voice of his. There was a pause, in which my father nodded ever so slightly, and then Severus went on. "What brought on this urge now? After all the time that has passed?"

"Indulge me in a few answers of my own, Severus. Did you enjoy yourself?"

There was no audible answer from the other man, but I assume he nodded, as my father then smiled. "Tell me, were you ever tempted by Draco when he was your charge?"

A snort. "He grew out of his schoolboy crush rather quickly, Lucius."

"Yes, but what of you?"

Another pause. Severus is as careful as ever. "There were times, when I missed your attentions, when he reminded me of you," he eventually said. Yes, careful, careful to praise my father, to stroke his ego, and yet to lay no blame anywhere. 

"And do you miss my attentions still?"

"Do not toy with me, Lucius. If you wish to do this again, or if you do not, please say so."

My father chuckled. "Yes, Severus, yes. I am beyond pleased that the time has come for us to renew our acquaintance. As for why now, are you aware I recently took a lover?"

"I do not keep up with gossip."

"Ah, well, this one I have had good reason to keep from the gossip sheets."

Severus coughed as though he had taken too large a gulp of his cognac. It took a moment before he could go on in a normal, thoroughly Slytherin tone. "I am aware, of course, of the surveillance you undertook on one Boy Who Lived."

Father laughed. He laughed a laugh of triumph.

"I suspected for some time that Potter had a secret lover," Severus said, as he drew his own conclusions. "And you have had difficulties taming the boy, is that it? You toyed with him, and when he was unable to meet your exacting standards, you tossed him aside."

The mirth was still in my father's voice as he said, "Why Severus, whatever gives you that idea?"

"Potter has been acting irrational of late. Angry and frustrated one moment, maudlin and--dare I say it?--heartbroken the next. I know all too well you are capable of inspiring such extremes, Lucius." There was a rustle of cloth and then Severus came into view.

On his knees, the tramp. But he was still speaking. "But your dalliance with the Potter boy rekindled your hunger, did it, Lucius? And so you call me back to your side."

Father stood, and caressed that man's cheek, and said, "You always were the best." And then he leaned close, saying "And you have just answered your own question." He brushed his lips over Severus' and then drew back, leaving Severus lunging forward and panting. Severus settled back on his heels, his face red. "A bit out of practice, though, are we?" My father chided. "I shall be sure to issue correction on your next visit, my dear Severus. Now go."

I do not have to explain my father's mastery of deception, do I? He allowed Severus to come to an entirely wrong conclusion.

It is what he had done with me, as well. When one thinks one has an idea all one's own, one is most likely to believe it. I had believed he desired and cherished me in a way I do not even have words for, that I alone could hold that special place, and that he finally saw me for who I was and loved me despite that. I had hidden who I was when I hid you, Harry, and I see now what a strange kind of relief it was to have him find out. He played on that emotion, that elation. The insecurities that made me crave his attention, his words, his touch, his cock, did he not create them in the first place? 

He retired shortly thereafter, and I sat another hour in the spyhole, still reeling. Because once I had unraveled that thread of false thought in my mind, I began on the next one. 

You, Harry. I had been so angry, so hurt, after what you did, but I knew I had to separate the thread of the truth from the version that my father had woven.

Over the week that followed, I reviewed that fateful night at your flat again and again. I went over it using Father's Pensieve, enough times now that I no longer see myself and my pain. 

I see yours. 

I do not know when the first time was I watched your eyes as the memory played out. Perhaps it was the first day I received your note. Because I wanted to know how, by Merlin's beard, you could possibly have written such a thing and meant it.

Five simple words.

They made no sense at first, so I watched the memory again and again. There you are, pretending to be Lucius. I see the hesitation now, the shock. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, did you? You suspected that there was some plot between my father and me. And the things I said, at first they made it appear that the only reason I seduced you in the first place was because he had told me to.

I still cannot tell if you suspected the incest. You certainly did not believe it, not until I had your cock in my mouth.

I wonder what I would have done, if you had cheated on me for months, if you had hidden another lover from me. Would I have been angry enough to assault you? Or if I had thought you only toyed with me to satisfy some Slytherin plot?

I cannot lie and say I would be more virtuous than you. It seems ridiculous to contemplate, doesn't it?

I see the memory, I watch understanding dawn on you, as you pump me for information even as you test just how far I will let my own father go. Your desperation is clear, your need to know if I love you at all, if I would defend you in the face of my father, if I would choose you over him.

Now you know. I would let him kill me--or I would have that night. And I love you more than I love my own life.

My fucked up life.

I will not take back the anger I felt at what you did. I was broken by what happened, but I know you did not intend to break me. I thought, perhaps, for a time, that you had done it intentionally. That was certainly what my father wanted me to believe. 

Am I as much a fool as Severus, who now thinks that your secret lover was Lucius himself? I am the bigger fool, I think. How else could it have taken me all this time, four weeks since your note came, to understand what you meant by five simple words?

I no longer question whether you are truthful, Harry. I no longer question your motives. I no longer question that you love me enough to defy the Ministry and pureblood tradition and Wizarding law and my father. Not when the only communication from you has been five words, and five words alone:

_**  
** _

I will come for you. 

I question whether I deserve such devotion. Why, when I thought it was my father who was devoted to me thus, did I accept is as my due--long-awaited but accepted nonetheless as the cracked earth accepts the rain after a drought--yet I question it from you? I do not know.

What I do know is that my reasons for hiding my love for so long, my reason for trammeling our relationship into such a narrow pen, they are all gone. You have heard the truth from my own lips. You know the worst of it, and my father too, knows the worst.

So why have I not sent you a sign? For I know that is why you are waiting. You are waiting for me to choose, to decide, to be ready to move on. 

I lie awake at night, spinning my thoughts in a thousand directions, trying to see if there is a way to please us all. Daphne Greengrass. My father. My ancestors. You.

Myself.

You would think that a so-called selfish, overindulged brat like myself would know what I want. It has taken me all this time to realize that I have never been the one taking what I want. 

Oh, I did, that one time, that one time I worked up the nerve to cut you out of the Gryffindor herd, fueling myself on liquid courage and relying on sheer seductive skill, that first time for you and me. After that, a year of secrecy, of worrying, and then his wishes, his words...

You must be wondering why I am silent. Why you've heard nothing for four weeks. I stare at your note when I dare to take it from where I've hidden it. He gagged me, that first time, and I have been silent ever since. 

The time has come for me to free my voice. You need a sign, Harry; I shall give you one. The next time he leaves the Manor, I will climb the stairs to the tower, and I will shout your name from the rooftop. I will be silent no more. Your name, which I have so carefully schooled from my lips, afraid to contemplate what might happen if he suspected I still think of you, will ring across the countryside of Wiltshire. It will bounce off the henge stones and float down the River Avon.

Come for me, Harry. I will be waiting.

 

+  
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Part Six: Tears

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I didn't think the waiting would be so hard. I can only imagine that you are working on a plan to reach me, Harry. My life is far from a fairy tale, so I did not expect a gilded carriage with flying horses to descend from the sky, but the waiting gets harder every day, especially with the increasing weight of new secrets pressing on my shoulders.

I do not know how he does it. I assume he has either secured the girl's mother's cooperation somehow or applies the judicious use of _Obliviate_ , but he has been bringing my fiancée into our bed. 

Did I just call it "our bed?" Get me out of here, Harry, before I lose whatever shred of sanity I have left. 

Greengrass, or "Queenie," as she likes to be called when I'm fucking her, turns out to fit what Lucius defines as the ideal wife. "Have I not told you," he said one night, as he and I had our way with her, "of the old Wizarding saying?"

At the time, he was sitting against the headboard, Queenie between his legs such that she lay back on his chest. He was tweaking her nipples and fingering her cunt, until she was begging to be fucked--which was my task. I knew to wait for his permission, though.

"The ideal wife is a virgin in the parlor and a whore in the bedroom," he then said. "Isn't that right, Queenie?"

She giggled in response and then resumed begging for my cock. He gave his assent then and I plunged into her quite willingly--they had teased me quite thoroughly prior to that.

Regardless what you may have heard about deviancy in the Slytherin dungeons, Harry, I assure you that having the first woman I shared with another man be my fiancee, with my own father, was quite strange. He pulled me into a kiss then, over her shoulder, and she didn't seem to mind being crushed between us.

In fact, her hands went behind her back, where she was manipulating my father's cock and telling him how much she loved the shape of it, the size...

God, what a slut. And Lucius broke our kiss and suckled her neck, then. I fucked her as hard as I could then, Harry, but I was powerless to stop what I knew was coming.

It didn't actually happen until the next time, though. This time she lay between us on the bed, while I petted her and suckled her to full wetness, and Lucius made lascivious comments and stroked himself. She reached out those silk-soft hands of hers, found him erect and straining and me partly flaccid, and turned her eyes to him.

I saw the moment of calculation in his head, as he weighed the limits of his power and the last vestiges of self-restraint he had were shredded. "On your back, Draco," he said.

I wanted to argue. Is that just my nature? He was going to take something that was mine, and even though I didn't particularly want it, I was going to fight for it. But I didn't. I took my docile place next to her.

He ran his hands over us, his left stroking my recalcitrant flesh until I was as hard and hungry as ever, his right plumbing her depths. 

He lifted two fingers, heavily coated with her honey, and began to smear them against my arsehole, finally slipping inside. Again and again he dipped into her, and then plunged those fingers into me, slickening the way. He let go my cock in favor of his wand, and I felt the tingle of the disinfecting spell, and not for the only time that night. 

Then his warm, dry hand returned to my hardness, stroking me roughly, a mere afterthought as he settled his hips between her legs.

The sound she made as he sheathed himself in her, Harry, raised gooseflesh all over my body. Pain, pleasure, surprise, longing, fulfillment--I wanted to bat his hand away so I could crawl off the bed and leave them to it. He fucked her with languid strokes, and she drummed her heels on him, trying to make him go faster, harder. 

I know from experience that such tricks do not work on Lucius Malfoy. He fucks you how he wants, when he wants. A lesson I was about to re-experience, of course, since he soon pulled his glistening cock out of her and brought it to me.

He settled himself against me, with one arm under me, speaking softly in my ear. "I haven't forgotten you," he whispered, as he cradled me to him and pushed into me. "Did you think I would?"

How does he know? I nearly burst into tears as he fucked me then, Greengrass forgotten for the moment, as he once again became my entire world. 

It didn't last. He specializes in cruel pleasures, and far too soon, he exited me, and returned to her. And so it went, for hours, extended by judicious application of disinfecting and lubrication charms, fucking her, then me, then her, leaving each of us quivering and empty, working his way up from the slow teasing strokes in the beginning to the vigorous pounding I've become used to. But the pounding usually ends quickly, with one or both of us gaining our release. Not this time. Dividing his attention as he did, each stroke merely made me wish for the punishment to end.

No, not punishment. Torment. As far as I know, he wasn't punishing me for anything, and that is something he has always been clear about.

Throughout, she cried his name, and sang his praises, and begged for more, while I was silent except for the occasional sound I could not hold back. 

Being fucked hard has never bothered me all that much, though. As you know by now. No, what truly upset me came at the end when he made me come first. I know what you're thinking, why was I dismayed to find his hand on my cock, pumping me expertly toward my climax? At first I was ecstatic, especially since he whispered my name into my ear, telling me he loved me. But I quickly realized that these words were only a cushion to soften the blow. 

He did not intend to come with me. I don't know how I knew it, but I did. I screamed as he brought me off, in rage and heartbreak. And then I lay limp, while he returned to her, to plough her furrow, coming deep inside her, something I had not been allowed to do. They shared a mutual, multi-tiered orgasm, while I wondered if he had truly lost his mind.

I learned to cry silently when I was a child, Harry. I've told you that before, haven't I? There's a way to open your chest to the grief so that there are no sobs, no hiccups, just a raw feeling pouring through you. Except for the tears, no one would know you were crying.

I've never learned of any way to stop the tears. I lay curled onto my side, my back to them, dampening the pillow under me as water ran from my wide-staring eyes.

A while later he reached across me, for his wand, and the Cleaning Charm that spelled away all trace of her musk from me took away the tears as well. And then he cast a Sleeping Charm on her, spooned against me, while I curled into myself more.

I forced myself to speak. "I don't suppose the Widow Greengrass cares which of us her daughter marries."

His kisses upon my back no longer felt loving. "I didn't expect you to be so bitter."

"You misunderstand me, Father." I turned and clung to him to hide my face against his chest. "I'm merely jealous."

He clucked his tongue. "Haven't I told you you'll always have what you need? Though I did not hear you begging me to come inside you, Draco."

_No, don't make this into my fault, you bastard,_ is what I was thinking, but what I said in my most tremulous voice was, "I'm sorry, Father."

He tilted my chin up then, and stared into my eyes. "Have you been crying?"

I shook my head, but it was an obvious lie, as the tears came forth as before.

"No, no, my son." Now the hug was genuine, as he hushed me. "You did nothing wrong. And truly, that privilege should have been yours." He clucked his tongue now as if chiding himself for indulging his own pleasure. "I'm very proud of you, Draco. You've done very well, passed every test I've set before you. I admit, I did not intend to test your loyalty this far, but circumstances change."

Oh yes, don't they, though?

He stroked my hair, and rocked me gently, as though he weren't the cause of the heartbreak threatening to climb out of my chest. "I love you," he said.

And he does.

"I will make it up to you, Draco," he whispered then. "Do you remember your fantasies about dear old Professor Snape?"

Even I was not able to completely suppress the wave of startlement that went through my limbs. "Yes?"

"He's thought about you, too, you know. He tries to hide it, but I know him too well." He pulled back gently, to look into my face. "Would you enjoy him as a playmate, Draco?"

What could I say? I think I was too busy trying to make sure that not a hint of my memory of seeing them together escaped my brain, so I said nothing at first, and then repeated the word, "Playmate?"

He chuckled then. "Severus has many talents that would not be obvious to the eye. Under those robes he is quite well-endowed, and he has been impeccably trained."

"By you?" I said, letting a hint of knowing come into my voice. "I knew you were lovers, but..."

He silenced me with a predatory smile. "You know now what it means to be my lover, Draco."

I nodded. That was certainly true. I tightened my grip on him. "Would you... would you take me... together?"

He shook his head slowly and slid his hand covetously down my body. "I do not think it wise to let anyone know the depths"--here he slid a finger inside me and I gasped--"of our bond." 

"But what about Greengrass?"

He kissed me then, his tongue exploring the territory of my mouth, as if reclaiming it for himself. "The easiest and most permanent of Memory Charms are the ones where we change the least. She will remember my seduction of her, and perhaps those times when I brought a pretty male whore to play with her, as well."

He did not mean it that way, but I was stung by the word "whore," and clamped down reflexively on the finger still inside me. I had once thought of his cock inside me as a precious and special gift, but now having seen the abandon with which he shoved it into everyone I knew, I felt like little more than a whore. A hole.

His voice turned gravelly as he rolled me onto my stomach. "Forgive me for underestimating your needs, Draco. I had not realized quite how much fucking you require. No wonder you turned to Potter."

He spoke a charm then to aid himself in coming to full hardness again, followed by the lubrication spell. 

After the pounding of earlier, I did not need to be stretched, and he slid in easily. This position always overwhelmed me, with his lips and teeth playing at that place atop my shoulder, and the curve of his cock just so, digging deep at my prostate with every long thrust. 

And here is the proof, that despite everything, I am a sentimental fool. I thought, as he pleasured me, as he played my body like a master his instrument, that this might be the last time. I had no way of knowing when you might snatch me away, Harry, but the fact that it could be soon, that fleeting thought came to my mind, that this might be the last time for him and me... I began to cry again.

My tears excited him, Harry. He slid a hand underneath me, so that my cock was pressed into his hand with every thrust. He fucked me harder, mercilessly, exulting in my helplessness and my utter surrender to his control. "I'm going to leave you sore," he said, in my ear, as he moved in me. "So that if Severus fucks you tomorrow, it will still be me you think of."

I must have made some exclamation at that. 

"Would you like that? For your potions master to do what I'm doing now? Are you that much of a slut, Draco?"

"Please, Father!" I let him interpret that as yes or no.

"I was going to suggest a different course of action, but I find myself unaccountably drawn to that thought. I should like him to leave you thoroughly debauched, and when he leaves, I will take you once more. Will you be satisfied then, Draco? Will you?"

But my answer was merely a ragged cry as the hand under me wrung my climax from me. 

Once, the thought of having Severus Snape at my mercy, or the reverse, would have thrilled me to my toes. But now I know it is but one more hurdle I must surmount before we are reunited, Harry. You have your own test to pass, I know, in divining how to pluck me from this velvet prison.

And so, as you do, I persevere.

 

+  
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Part Seven: Gentle

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A house elf summons me to his study. When I arrive outside the door, which is cracked open, I can hear his voice quite clearly. Surely this is no coincidence. He means for me to hear every word he says.

"Yes, I need to ask your help, old friend," he is saying to Severus Snape, whom I imagine to be seated and glowering over a snifter of brandy, as usual. "First, I need to know what you may have heard concerning my son's reputation."

The answer is accompanied by a snort. "Draco was so discreet with his liaisons at Hogwarts that I was almost convinced he had no interest in sex," my old Head of House drawls. "And since then, it would appear he is ever more so. Discreet, that is."

There is a pause. Then my father's voice again. "The nut rarely falls far from the tree, Severus."

"The brandy and the late hour are fogging my brain, Lucius. You know you may always be direct with me?"

A soft chuckle at that. "Very well. Draco has confessed to me some rather _rigorous_ sexual needs. Ones he has some difficulty meeting while maintaining that spotless reputation." The rustle of robes, the sound of the bottle being set down on the desk again. "It would be a tremendous favor to me, Severus, if you could indulge the boy."

"Now that he is no longer a boy, I suppose the thought could be entertained. As you know, I've always had a... passing affection for him."

I smirk at that. Even though I hate the still-burning feeling that I have been little more than an extremely exotic pet whore for my father--and the fact that he now wishes to pawn me off on another, like a country lord with no time to give his horses proper exercise--I cannot help but smile at the reaction the news brings out in Severus.

"But tell me, Lucius," he says, his voice fairly dripping with anticipation, "If I'm to... _service_ the boy adequately, you'll need to tell me more."

I hear another rustle, as if my father has gotten to his feet. "He likes it hard, Severus. Or so he tells me. So hard that I fear for his safety."

A knowing sound comes from our old professor. "Is that why you've been keeping him cooped up here, Lucius? To keep him away from, what's the word, _rough trade?_ "

I can barely suppress a chuckle, because I've never thought of you in such terms before, Harry. When I escape here, I shall make you a shirt emblazoned with that as a slogan.

But Lucius' voice is harsh-edged. "I feared enough that I put a Chastity Charm on him. If you accept my proposition, though, Severus, I will key it to allow you entry."

As if I were a door--just speak the password and I shall open. 

There is silence in the room, and then Lucius speaks again. "Fear not, Severus. This changes nothing between us. If you are uncomfortable with the thought of servicing us both, I understand utterly and I shall seek someone else for Draco."

But the answer is a low laugh, a sound I've never heard come from Severus Snape's throat before. Though of course, I've never been on the verge of having sex with the man before, either. 

"At your service," he says. There is an enthusiasm in his voice that sounds positively strange coming from him. "I would relish the opportunity to... help you. _Both_. Shall I take the boy in the dungeons?"

"Perhaps not this time. We've made such memories in this room, haven't we, Severus? Why not right here?"

Not that I expected anything else. I know why he wants me in the study, because Lucius himself has designed all the ways to spy on what goes on in the room. He will want to watch, without the appearance of hovering over me. 

Severus agrees, and the next thing I know the door swings open, and I am invited in.

He has such a queer expression on his face, Harry, not at all like the stern, detention-giving glare I expected. No, he looks at me with plain, undisguised hunger, and I begin to wonder just how much this is going to hurt. He looks quite ready to fuck me through the floor, thanks to my father's oh-so-considerate goading.

"Draco," comes a voice full of fatherly indulgence, "Professor Snape has agreed to handle the matter that we spoke about."

"Yes, Father."

He has his wand in hand, and he speaks a series of words I do not know. Keying the Chastity Charm, I would guess, as I feel a whisper of magic breeze up my spine--and then I know so, as he steps up to my prospective partner and taps him lightly in the lap. And so it is done. I thought I had grown used to the heartbreak, but there is that pang again. I am no longer especially his. Here is the proof. Another man's cock has been given permission to enter. I wonder how long it will be before he uses me to buy favors, settle old grudges... I remember the way that MacNair used to look at me covetously.

But no, surely not. My father, or _Lucius_ as I have been trying to think of him for some time now, thinks that I will enjoy this. And dear friend Severus, too. Can I deny what he has said, about how hard I like it? I've given him no evidence otherwise. He thinks he is taking care of me and I cannot dare to tell him the truth. 

I don't dare allow myself to think that perhaps it's worse than that, and that Lucius wants me to suffer under Severus. That this is, ultimately, all an elaborate punishment for not being good enough, not holding his interest. But that thought is hard to keep down given what he does next.

He waves his wand again, transfiguring a table into a familiar piece of furniture, one I know from the dungeons. With another flourish, the mahogany chest next to me flies open, revealing a collection of restraints, knives, and whips. You would be amazed to see them, Harry. Lucius says nothing, merely nods to us both, and then sweeps from the room.

I am staring up down at Severus, whose last name I am crazily aware at that moment rhymes with something else. He has not moved from his chair, where he sits, legs crossed, staring back. I fidget, unsure if I am supposed to take the lead here, or what. But then he speaks, and his voice is soft.

"You may take off your clothes, Draco."

I answer, automatically--six years at Hogwarts are not undone so quickly. "Thank you, sir." I disrobe, folding my things as I remove them and placing them on a nearby armchair one after the other. When I am completely naked, I stand before him, eyes wide and unsure what to do next.

He looks at the bench, and then back at me, as if considering. I imagine that if he does not take the broad hints Lucius has given in the form of the implements, then he himself will suffer Lucius' wrath later. The A-shaped bench has a wide, padded top, and side banks where one's arms and legs can rest, or be restrained. Lucius has tied me to one like it many a time.

He gestures to it and I climb somewhat stiffly into place. As Lucius promised, I am sore from his treatment of me yesterday. 

I hear his gasp as he takes in the sight of my inflamed flesh. I cannot tell if it is a gasp of horror or of need. It does not matter to me which it is, Harry, as the only thoughts that truly matter to me now are of you.

He does not restrain me, merely lets my body settle onto the bench, my hands and knees against the padded steps. I hear the sound of a jar being unscrewed.

One of his hands strokes me on the back, warm and soothing, while the other daubs something cool around my arsehole. "This will help," he says.

"He's watching," I whisper, without moving my lips.

"I know," comes the answer, breathed into my ear. He probes me gently, so gently, and still his other hand is caressing me. And there is such longing in his voice when he adds, "But I have been waiting for this for such a long time."

A sob catches in my throat. I almost want to cry out "no," Harry. Because the last thing I need now is Severus Snape falling in love with me, when all I want now is you.

But he's being gentle, and I'm grateful for that. He coaxes me off the bench and into his lap in the leather armchair, still stroking between my legs and murmuring softly to me. Then I feel strong arms lifting me, onto the desk, a whispered charm making the surface softer, and then he is parting his robes and exposing his cock.

I have my eyes shut, but there is no denying that his kisses feel reverent, his caresses divine. He mouths my nipples with just a bare hint of suction, his tongue laving them to hardness.

They are not the only thing that is hard, and my cheeks turn scarlet. I wish I could make my own charm, Harry, one that would say I would respond only to your touch. Not to any man or whore or lapdog of Lucius' who wants me. But I cannot stop my cock from rising any more than I could stop my tears from falling yesterday. My erection grows into his hand, and I hear the satisfied hum in his throat.

Now his cock is pressed against me, slick and ready, and I feel him falter. His voice hums in my ear. "Are you ready?"

I nod, biting my lip. This is not the way I expected it would be. It is harder than ever to keep my emotions in check, Harry, when he is so caring, to keep my thoughts of you hidden. Snape is an even better Legilimens than my father is, and I dare not let him see your face there in my mind. 

He presses inward, then stops as I tense. "It's all right," I say, anxious to get it over with. "Keep going."

But he goes gradually, so gradually into me, I barely feel it while he distracts me with his tongue licking at my neck, his fingers climbing the ladder of my ribs. 

And so help me Harry, it feels good. Sore or not, the feeling of him sliding in and out of me with such care... I don't want to respond, but I cannot help it. I whimper and grip him by the hair.

"All right?" he whispers again, and I can feel him straining to hold himself back. He tugs with slow confidence at my cock. "I want to make sure the Chastity Hex is really neutralized for me."

My eyes open at that. Such an odd question for him to ask, but I shake my head minutely. No, this feels nothing like that time when... when...

I cling to wild hope suddenly, with arms and legs and all my heart, that my intuition is correct and this is not some figment of my wishful thinking. 

But I know it is _you_ when the man above me asks me, sweetly, if I want to come first. 

"No," I whisper, "No. Let's leave now! Quickly."

Oh God, Harry, I'll never be able to tell you the surge of emotions I feel as you pull the portkey from your pocket. As you hold the simple gold band against your chest, as I reach out to touch it, as it links us, as it whisks us far, far away.

We land somewhere dim, but my eyes quickly adjust to the bespelled candles hovering overhead. "Where..." I start to ask, but you explain before I can finish.

I should have known you would take me somewhere Unplottable. And really, I should know better by now than to ask impertinent questions of the man whose cock is still lodged in me. In whose hair my fingers are now tangled as he rocks back and forth. I feel it as the potion wears off, and the locks in my hands shorten, and the cock moving inside me suddenly brushes that place that makes candle flames light behind my eyes.

And you say nothing but my name, as you make love to me. No pleas, no apologies, no questions.

No lies.

Just "Draco" whenever you need to speak, until, once again, you ask me, if I would like to come first.

"No," I say, "No. It's together or nothing."

And the truth of the matter is all I need at this point to push me over the edge is your voice encouraging me to come. I barely feel your hand, your own spasms, as my entire world becomes the beating of our two hearts as I fountain into your fingers and you deep into me.

It isn't until you are asleep with your head tucked against my chest, and I am drifting off myself, that I realize where the ring ended up. It glints dully in the candle light as I reach up to stroke your hair once more. There it is, on my finger.

Solid gold.

+  
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~fin~  
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